


Devil's Advocate

by BJackson



Series: The Other and the Observer [5]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Timeline, Angst, Drama, M/M, Religious Imagery, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BJackson/pseuds/BJackson
Summary: Bent on revenge, Al's counterpart finds himself in a bizarre world full of familiar faces. As hellfire licks at his heels, he must face some hard truths about himself.





	Devil's Advocate

     The Project had never felt as lifeless and vacant as it did now. This dank, dark crater of despair used to have a crackle of light inside, an ember that defied everything around them and granted assurance that there was life. The one stinkin’ thing in the world that made Calavicci happy.

     And now he was lying in a bed forever.

     He could still see him falling like it was yesterday, although it had been much longer than that. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his last look at him. Beckett knew this was his final moment. His petrified eyes sent his goodbye as he slipped off the edge and plummeted down. And Calavicci’s guts slammed into the ground too as he witnessed the most important person in the world leave him.

     Calavicci had wrought his share of violence by now—but he never got used to it. It didn’t soften the blow. And the sound,  _the ungodly sound_ —that would stay with him forever.

     It was worse than dying, in a way. He was just… _there_.

     He tried talking to him, tried to ignite just that little bit of light again—but it came less and less. He missed sneaking into each other’s rooms, playing cards, making each other laugh or groan, the soft moments in the middle of the night. The way Beckett’s mouth would quirk, just slightly, when Calavicci said something that amused him. Because they couldn’t be free they escaped into each other. Calavicci longed to get lost in him again.

     Everything now was empty. And the hum of the equipment drove him crazy, niggled into his ear and wound his jaw tighter and tighter. The longer time went, the more the feeling grew, clutched at his insides. Sent his mind into fantasies, where he’d twist and pull and tear apart. The only thing he felt anymore was rage.

     He couldn’t survive alone. He couldn’t survive on grief. All he could do was find somewhere to aim his fury and go out in a blaze of glory.

     Whatever it took, he was gonna find the son of a bitch who let him fall. And this time, he wasn’t gonna let whatever vestige of conscience he had get in the way. That part of him made a swift exit when the light went out.

     Beckett was gone. After today, Calavicci would be too.

     “I hope you know I’m doing this for you,” he murmured.

     As usual, Beckett said nothing.  _Weird_ how…time had cleaned up his external injuries, making him seem more alive. Like he was just asleep, save for the tube down his throat keeping his lungs going. Calavicci’s eyes drifted down to his motionless hand, covered in calluses and scars. He’d memorized them, he’d spent so long in this place. Temptation tore at him to grasp it, feel his warmth, and he tentatively reached out.

     “I don’t see why you keep coming here.” Instantly, his hand withdrew. Zoey approached and sighed, as if he was a child who didn’t know any better. “He’s never waking up.” Calavicci kept his mouth shut. He was a lot smarter these days. Besides, she was the only company he had now, and if he made her angry he’d be...

     Funny how used to your captors you become. But also, in some way, he felt he understood her more. After all, he was going to become her.

     No one started out here as a monster. They started out like everyone else: a prisoner. And the people who survived—they had to let their fangs out. And if they wanted to live  _comfortably,_ they’d have to work their way up. Do all of what they were asked, and as far as the higher ups could push them. That would earn them better food, quarters, clothes—a little more freedom. And if they  _really_ wanted to move up, they did some extra credit. And for that, they’d have to ask the Director for a promotion.

     Calavicci’s bones rattled just thinking of him. The only times  _he_ came around were to make them wish they’d be written out of existence. He could pull atoms apart and make you  _feel_ it, just together enough to know you were in endless agony. Calavicci wasn’t even sure he was human. He’d never met anyone he was so sure was filled with black tar instead of guts.

     Beckett had never gone to him. For thirty years, he never gave out, and that was near unthinkable here. You either gave in, or you died. But he lived. And for all his decades of struggle, of grit and tenacity that nearly broke him, his layers of blood on the floor, this incredible display seemed a funny joke to the overlords upstairs. It was a real chuckle, alright.

     There were times when Zoey referred to her life before leaping, vague allusions to places and people she’d known. He didn’t get much from her but it was enough. Calavicci wondered what she was like. Was she always an ice queen? Certainly she was nowhere near the witch she was now. All she cared about was the Project’s bottom line. Time had hardened her after she’d lost  _her_ light to Doctor Sam Beckett. She used to sneak into her room too.

     Sometimes Calavicci would catch her scratching at her stomach where she’d been shot, like the wound was still there. Nice guy, Sam Beckett.

     How could someone he hated and someone he…cared about deeply, be the same person?

     He’d swore he’d never do it, but he’d gone to the Director. It didn’t matter if he held out anymore, did it? The world owed him a break, and if he had to spread misery to get it he’d damn well spread some misery. Hadn’t he earned it? He’d gotten his orders: break a new recruit in, by any means necessary. Use whatever tools spoke to him. And hell, he should know some advanced techniques…he started learning in the Hanoi Hilton. He was going to become just like the bastards who held him there, just like Zoey. Today was the day he was going to lose his soul.

     And he didn’t care.

     Everyone deserved it, in some way. Everyone had done something, everyone had their sins. No one had ever done him any favors to earn his mercy. The one person who ever gave a damn about him was dead to the world.

     Standing outside the Disciplinary Chamber, he wrung his hands together hard enough to nearly break his fingers. They were going to pay. They were all going to fucking pay. So long, Al Calavicci.

     The door slid up and he stepped into the endless crimson with one thing on his mind: retribution.

\-------

     His feet hit carpet and he came to a sudden, bewildered stop.

     This wasn’t the Disciplinary Chamber. His fingers were wrapped around a doorknob, which was bizarre considering the Project didn’t have doorknobs. And hey wait a minute, what the hell was he wearing? He tugged at the sleeve of his brown duster, and then felt the hat on top of his head.

     His body twisted around, dumbfounded. He’d just stepped in from outside. Birds twittered amongst the perfectly green leaves and calla lilies. The sound echoed almost impossibly loud. His body twisted back. The house was…picturesque. Not a thing out of place. Off-puttingly so. It could only be described as June Cleaver-esque. Like he’d stepped into one of those Home and Garden magazines, or whatever they were called.

     What the hell was going on?

     “Is that you, honey?” a woman called from the next room, “I’ll be right out!”

     Had he leaped? Yeah, that…that must be it. And he just swiss cheesed it. Jeez, he was really bad if he didn’t even remember being sent out. Had he completed his last assignment? He…he would remember that, wouldn’t he? He’d like to think he would. It would be hard to forget the sound of bones breaking.

     Truth be told, he thought he’d feel different, like there’d be less of an ache in his stomach or something. He just felt the same. Empty and restless.

     Well. Until Zoey told him what he was here for, he’d just have to play along. The ring on his finger told him the woman he heard was his wife, swell. There was nothing more grating than a sugary sweet 50s housewife. They were real criers too, just instant waterfalls. He hoped she was at least a looker.

     He shut the door just as a little girl came barreling into him. The moment caught him by such surprise he tensed up and wrenched her away. Big Bambi eyes stared up at him from underneath thick bangs, but the sudden grab hadn’t wiped away her big smile. “Daddy, you’re home!”

    It was just a kid. Her tiny wrist slipped from his hand. “Uh…yeah. Don’t sneak up on Daddy like that, okay?”

     “Okay. I just missed you with all my heart! Momma and I spent all day making peach cobbler for you. I hope you like it.” Mm, peach cobbler. One of his favorites. He licked his lips. Maybe this leap would have some upsides to it.

     “Tina! Let your father step inside, will you? Don’t keep him at the door.”

     Tina grinned. “Yes, Momma.” As she stepped aside to let him pass, Calavicci looked up and set eyes on his new wife.

     Make that  _old_  wife. He stopped breathing for a moment he was so shell-shocked.

     It was Beth.

     There she was, looking the same as she had the last day he saw her. Before he’d left for his next tour, swore he’d make it up to her when he got back, and then…and then disappeared for a while. She glided toward him as if the wind carried her, her glow radiating across the room, and placed her soft lips to his cheek. Lord, she even smelled the same.

     The contact woke him up. He stopped her as she was parting, couldn’t let her leave, pulled her in and kissed her deeply, needfully. His arms wrapped around her, this beautiful woman, and held her close to his body. God, it had been so long. He couldn’t let her go again, couldn’t bear to part with her. Overwhelmed tears welled up in his eyes but just managed to be trapped inside. Her spring-steeped scent surrounded him and eased his aching bones. For the briefest moment, the last 30 years never happened and he was home. God, Beth!

     She was the one to pull away, or they never would’ve split. She giggled with pleasant surprise. “Well that’s a fine greeting!”

     “Oh, Beth…” was all he could manage.

     As the shock began to wear off, Calavicci started to notice, however…a slight  _offness._

Beth was different than how he remembered her, just in little ways, but he knew her better than he knew himself. Her hairstyle was just slightly bigger than she would normally make it, she wore a colorful floral dress that wasn’t a pattern she would choose—shaped like a big bell. And she was wearing an apron over it, but there was nothing to indicate she’d just been making peach cobbler. Everything was so put together, so neat, so…un-Beth.

     Was this her life with that bloodsucking lawyer? Whassisname, Dick? Jeez, what had he turned her into? And that must be who… _he_ was now. God, Lothos was sadistic. This must be part of their test for him, to become the fucker who stole his wife and had him declared dead, to see their perfect little life with their perfect little kid…those son of a bitches really had it out for him.

     His temporary joy at seeing her began to turn sour. He couldn’t even have this. His fists balled up at his sides and he squeezed his fingers impatiently. Everything he loved was taken from him.

     “What’s the matter, Al?” Beth blinked innocently. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

     That was enough for a double take. Calavicci’s jaw fell unhinged. He must have misheard. “What did you say?”

     Her perfect brow creased and she cocked her head, pouting her lips. “Al?”

     Al. She called him Al. Which meant…

     He frantically did a spin in search of a mirror, finding one hung by the door. And saw…himself. Only…it was himself  _now_. Same wrinkles, same tired expression. He looked nothing like he did in…what year was it? He made a beeline for the kitchen—just as pristine as the rest of the house, with a picture book peach cobbler cooling in the windowsill—and found the calendar. April 1…1950.

     1950? No no no, that couldn’t possibly be true. He wasn’t married to Beth in 1950, they hadn’t even met yet. Hell, he might not’ve been out of the orphanage at this point, and he certainly didn’t look like his Uncle Jack yet. And where the hell did the little girl come from? They never had any children. What was any of this? His mind was reeling.

     “You’re fooling with me, aren’t you?” Beth asked cheerily, placing her hands on her hips and shaking her head, “Sweetheart, you don’t have time to be silly! You should be getting ready for work.”

     Finally, he found his voice again. “Beth, what…what year is it?”

     “Why, it’s 1950, ya goof. You know that.”

     “But it can’t be 1950.”

     “Whatever you say, dear.”

     Calavicci could only gape dumbly. Things seemed to make sense to her at least. A knock on the door caused them both to jump.

     “Oh heavens!” Beth exclaimed with a breathy laugh, clutching at her chest, “Where has the time gone? That must be your new partner already.”

     “Partner?”

     “Very funny. Now let’s go meet him.” With a gentle push, she steered him out of the kitchen.

     Without any clue as to what to do, Calavicci found himself staring at the front door. He could only hope Zoey would hurry her ass up and tell him what the hell was going on, because this was too much. He supposed, given his lack of any other direction, he should just play along. When in Rome…

     He opened the door and, once again, was stunned speechless.

     There stood Sam Beckett. Wearing a pinstriped seersucker suit, a matching red bowler hat and bowtie, and the biggest shit-eating grin he’d ever seen, he held himself with a smug confidence. Tipping his hat, he greeted, “Good afternoon, sir.”

     It was  _him_. That other one. Just the sight sent him into a rage. Before he had a chance to speak again, Calavicci had knocked him across the nose, grabbed him by the shirt, and yanked him inside with white hot fury. “I shoulda known it was you! What the hell did you do to me?! What kinda game is this?!”

     “AL!” Beth rushed to his side, trying to pull them apart. “What in god’s name are you doing?!”

     “You bastard! I’ll kill you!”

     Beth gasped. “Language, Al! Language!” Calavicci lifted his fist to plant it square in his jaw, but Beth placed herself between them. “Albert!”

     He stopped when he saw her lost kitten eyes, and felt some shame seep in.

     Damn her. Slowly, he lowered his arm, let go of his victim, and backed away. Even then, it was all he could do to keep himself from shoving his fist down the other man’s throat. The image of Beckett lying in bed flashed in his mind. The sound of his laughter haunted him.

     Beth was dusting off Doctor Beckett’s shoulders as he straightened the front of his shirt and placed his hat back on. “Where are my husband’s manners? I apologize for his rude behavior.” She half-laughed as if it was all some comical misunderstanding.

    The doctor dismissed this apology with a disarming smile and clasped both hands around hers. “Water off a duck’s back, my dear,” he said, voice dripping with a southern drawl Calavicci only just now noticed. What was that about? “Ain’t nothin’ to me. You get a lotta that in my line of work.” He winked. Dazzled by his charming affectations, Beth giggled and placed a hand to her chest. He turned to face Calavicci, never losing his grin. “You must be Albert Calavicci. I’m with Mayville and Sons. Name’s Samuel, Samuel Brisbois.” He extended his hand warmly. “I’m your new partner.”

     Calavicci’s glower turned into a perplexed stare. What was he getting at? Who was he performing for?

     Receiving no offer in return from Calavicci, Samuel reached out and took his hand himself, giving him a hearty shake. Eyes crinkled, he said, “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

     Oh, this was ballsy. It made him hate him even more. Still trying to figure him out, Calavicci was surprised to find Beth handing him a suitcase. “I’ve already packed for you,” she said gaily, placing another peck on his cheek, “Good luck, sweetie. I know you’ll make me proud!”

     “What is this?” Calavicci frowned, lifting up the suitcase, “What’re you two talkin’ about?”

     An arm slinked around his shoulder and Samuel pulled him in close. He smelled of some intoxicating aftershave that made him dizzy. “Why, Albert, I’d say you’re as nervous as a long tailed cat in a roomful of rockin’ chairs! Relax. It’s only your first day.” The closeness made Calavicci’s cheeks burn and he yanked himself away. How dare he touch him?

     “You two had better get going,” Beth chimed in, “You’re burning daylight!”

     Going? But he’d just got here, just gotten her back… Calavicci was frozen in place. He sure as shit didn’t want to go anywhere with that nozzle, but he especially didn’t want to leave Beth. “Beth, I—”

     “Now shush!” Beth placed a finger to his lips, then pushed him toward the door. “Be careful out there! I’ll be waiting for you.”

     He wasn’t expecting that gut punch. He’d heard those words before.

     And suddenly, he found himself pushed onto the front steps of the house. The door slammed shut with blood-freezing finality. And, infuriatingly, the birds continued to chirp, like it was a cartoon. He’d stepped into a model world. Good lord.

     It was a quaint little burg. Old-fashioned houses with white picket fences ran down the burnt sienna road, where children played under their parents’ watchful eyes. Other neighbors sat lackadaisically on porch swings or gossiped against the fences, lit up by the orange tint of the setting sun. This was not anywhere he ever remembered living. It didn’t look like any town he was familiar with at all.

     This was very wrong. Everything felt real enough, but something rang false about all of it. Like he’d stepped into an atomic shelter full of animated mannequins. He felt a tinge of suspicion in the air, like unseen eyes were on him. Verrrrry hinky. And whatever the hell was happening, he knew the man before him had the answers.

     “Shoo now!” With the gentle nudge of Samuel’s foot, a goat slowly ambled away from the bush it was munching at. Calavicci watched it go as Samuel twisted back to face him. “You comin’, or are you gonna sit there like a bump on a log?”

     “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Calavicci kept his feet planted firmly in place, his jaw set.

     “It’ll be mighty hard to earn a livin’ standin’ in one place.”

     “This is all very cute, but I’m over it. Now why don’t you stop putting on a show and tell me what the fuck is going on? Because I swear I’m gonna break your neck.”

     Calavicci was stiff with anger save for his shaking fists, very much ready to carry out his promise, yet Samuel only reacted with mild surprise. He stopped walking and leaned against the fence. “Albert, I don’t like to judge a man, but I’m sensin’ some hostility.”

     “You killed him.”

     “Who?”

     “You know who.”

     “I believe you have me mistaken for someone else, sir.”

     “Just stop it!” Calavicci spat out, waving his hand up and down, “I can see you and you can see me! The only reason you’re not dead right now is because I’m trying to figure out just where you’ve taken me.”

     Much to his fury, Samuel just laughed and shook his head. “Well, I have a cousin who looks a bit like me, perhaps you’re confused. But I can assure you, I’m Samuel Brisbois.”

     “Samuel  _Brisbois_ , huh?” Calavicci sneered, emphasizing the accent with distaste, “Right. Where’d you come up with that?”

     “It’s a biblical name if I’m not mistaken,” Samuel mused, pulling at the suspenders under his jacket, “A proud heritage, yes sir.”

     Calavicci simply glared.

     A pause. “I can see you’re a man of strong conviction.” Samuel straightened up and threw out his hands. “Allow me to better introduce myself. Sellin’s the name of the game, and I aim to please.” He jogged along down the road confidently, drawing the attention of three very impressed young ladies along the fence. He took one of their hands and kissed it delicately. “Never second rate, get it straight, the top, the tip, the king. Ring, I come, and no deal gets done faster. After all, I am the master.” Another of his grins, and the women swooned exaggeratedly.

     Calavicci was again at a loss for words. He had  _thought_ this was some bizarre orchestration on the part of Doctor Sam Beckett, but now he wasn’t so sure. He seemed just as manufactured as the rest of this upside down place.

     That wasn’t the doctor. He wasn’t even sure he was real. Maybe none of this was.

     “You have such a long face for such a short stature.” Samuel had made his way back over and clapped his hand on his shoulder. “Come on now, you’ll feel better when we get our supplies.”

     Jeez. He wasn’t going to get any straightforward answers, was he? Just go with it. For now. With disdained exasperation, “…supplies? From where?”

     “Why, the boss, of course.”

\-------

     “Sammy baby! Good to see ya back!”

     Eyes bugged out, Calavicci stared, gobsmacked, at someone who looked remarkably like Zoey wildly flailing her arms out to Samuel and kissing him on the cheek. Good lord, this was Zoey as he’d never seen her before. Large glasses took up a bulk of her face, dangly accessories clinked noisily as she moved, and flowing bohemian clothing hung effortlessly off her wiry frame. She was usually so cold and calculating, but  _now…_ Honestly she looked like she was a few fries short of a kiddy meal. This was nuts.

     However, seeing Zoey also put him newly on edge, because now he was beginning to think this was part of his promotion. Yeah, some sort of test by the Project, that tracked. He’d never  _heard_  of anything like this, but it made more sense than it didn’t. It was better than thinking he was losing his marbles! Because if that wasn’t the case, he was starting to suspect he’d swam down crazy creek. He had to pay attention for whatever hints they were dropping at him. Be alert. See the signs.

      Her attention turned to him. “And you must be Albert!  _Enchant_ _é_ _._ ” She kissed his cheek as well, much to his shock. “I’m Zoey Mayville; welcome to my little business.”

     “What happened to ‘and sons’?”

     She blinked cluelessly. “What sons?”

     Uh. Well, if this was a test it was very abstract.

     “Now lemme see if I can find your product…” Zoey was riffling through a big pile of junk behind her now, humming as she looked. She threw a few cans behind her, which fell open and sprung forth toy snakes. “Aha! Here we are.” When she faced them again, she was clasping two bright red suitcases. Handing them over to the two men, she continued, “Listen to Samuel, darling, and nothing will go wrong.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s my  _top_ employee.”

     “Why, Zoey,” Samuel said with his usual smirk, “I do believe you’re making me blush.”

     “You always make me see red, darling,” Zoey replied with a knowing grin.

     Calavicci froze. For a moment there, he thought he saw…something move outside the window. Just a flicker.

     Well…it was probably his imagination. Everything was topsy turvy here. If that was really Zoey and this was some bizarre test, he’d eat his foot. Hell, maybe he’d eat it anyway; it perfectly lined up with the logic of this wacko world. The hate fueling him was slowly spinning together with confusion and a tinge of fear.

     He wasn’t in Kansas anymore, that was for sure.

     “You’re getting left behind.”

     “Huh?” Knocked out of his thoughts, Calavicci saw Zoey quirking a quizzical eyebrow at him. Eyes motioning to the door, he followed her gaze and saw Samuel already outside. “Oh, uh…thanks.”

\-------

     “Wait up! Uh…Samuel.” It felt strange to say. Calavicci half jogged to catch up with Samuel as he strolled down the road.

     “Welcome back, Albert.”

     Calavicci’s jaw slid to the side in irritation. Samuel’s condescending attitude could screw right off. But, he had to know where all of this was going, and Samuel seemed to be the ringleader of this circus. “Let’s say I go along with your nutcracker ideas,” Calavicci sighed, eyes slanting sideways, “What are we sellin’ exactly?”

     Samuel had the look of a cat who’d just caught a fish, and Calavicci was the one flopping by the water. He spotted a couple arguing nearby and his lip curled up again. “Allow me to demonstrate. Excuse me!” he called out to the couple, raising his hand, “Madam! Do you have a moment?”

     Once again, Calavicci found himself running to catch up. And when the woman turned around, he nearly skidded to a stop. No mistaking it, it was his third wife.

     “Ruth…” he breathed. She’d left him just before he was washed out of Starbright. His drinking had spiraled out of control after that, the catalyst for his eventual dismissal from the project and the Navy. He missed her family, her cooking…but could he ever forgive her for divorcing him and leading to his marriage to Sharon? He shuddered.

     Ruth placed her fists on her hips, her face still red from the quarrel with her…husband? “What do you two want?”

    “Do forgive me for intrudin’,” Samuel said, voice laden with his usual allure, “My name is Samuel Brisbois and this is my associate Albert Calavicci. I couldn’t help but overhear your lover’s tiff and, bein’ the gentleman I am, I thought I’d offer our services.” He gestured to Calavicci as if he had anything to do with him.

     “Your services.”

     “Yes, ma’am. See, we’re in the business of fixin’ things.”

     “We’re not interested,” the husband spat impatiently, eager to get back to their fight.

     “What if I told you we could fix your marriage?”

     At this, the two of them returned their attention to Samuel. Ruth shook her head and blew out a breath. “Ha, good luck! Nobody could fix this mess!”

     “You’re the one who won’t listen,” the husband insisted.

     “I listen, you just don’t care for my response!”

     Samuel inserted himself between them before another fight broke out, smoothly pushing them apart. “Now now, we’re civilized people. There’s no need to fight when I’ve got the answer to your prayers.”

     “And just what is that?” Ruth asked begrudgingly.

     “I’m glad you asked.” With another flash of teeth, Samuel was whipping open his red briefcase and taking out a small, corked bottle. Inside was an unknown pink liquid. “It’s the one, the only, the irreplaceable, irresistible, irresponsible, Mayville Love Elixir!” He stroked it as if he were holding expensive jewels. “It’ll make you happy as a dead pig in sunshine. Guaranteed to restore the love in your heart. Why, I dare say you’ll feel the same as the day you met!”

     Ruth and, uh, Mr. Ruth had the same reaction as Calavicci to this reveal.  _That_ was their product?

     “Only $9.99.”

     “Goodbye, Mr. Brisbois.”

     Samuel called out to them as they were leaving. “The first sip is free.” They stopped, curious. He laid another one of his devilish grins on them. “Come on now. What does it hurt to try?”

     And sure as shit, it worked. They took the bottle and each had a swig. “I’ll be damned…” Calavicci muttered.

     It was like little cartoon hearts had popped up all around them. Ruth’s husband took her in his arms and dipped her low into a kiss. “Oh, Ruth! I love you so much!”

     “I don’t even know why we were fighting!” They straightened up and faced them happily. “Your elixir worked like a charm! Oh, thank you, Mr. Brisbois! Mr. Calavicci!”

     “Here,” the husband took out his wallet, handing Samuel the cash, “We’ll take it.”

     “Why thank you kindly. Didn’t I tell you it was a miracle?” With a new skip in their step, the recharged lovebirds took off. Samuel turned back to his partner, only to find Calavicci watching with folded arms and a scowl. Unperturbed, he spread out his hands with satisfaction. “How’d that strike you?”

     “It struck me as a crock of shit.”

     “No need to gussy up your language for me, Albert.”

     “That’s really nice. What’re you gonna spend the money on, more fruit punch?”

     “I sense a Doubting Thomas in my midst, but the results speak for themselves.” Samuel gestured in the direction of Ruth and her husband. “How do you explain what you just witnessed?”

     Calavicci’s eyes nearly rolled away. “I know you don’t have a  _magic love potion_ , that’s for damn sure. I think you’re a really smooth talker and you sold them a placebo.”

     It took Samuel a moment to absorb Calavicci’s answer. Hands shoved in his pockets, he nodded and sauntered over to a nearby bench. He took a seat and spread his arms over the back of the bench, musing at the setting sun. “We live in uncertain times, Albert,” he said finally, eyes in the distance. Whenever he said his name, he really drew it out, emphasized every syllable, like he was tasting it. “Times of  _fire_  and  _brimstone_. People want protection, they want assurances, they surround themselves with fantasy. But at the end of the day, only one need is gonna fill their hearts, and that’s love.” His gaze flicked over to him. “That’s what were sellin’.”

     Calavicci couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. For such a ridiculous claim, Samuel seemed to be stating it in earnest. “You really believe in that crap?”

     Samuel’s eyes twinkled knowingly. “I truly do. And I’m fixin’ to turn you into a believer.”

     What was he even talking about? Why was he bothering arguing with this loony tune? Did any of this really matter? Calavicci was probably in his own coma now, hit over the head by the guy he was supposed to torture or something. Yeah, this was some sort of dream, or limbo, or something. Running his hands down his face, he flopped down onto the bench with frustration. “This is unreal. I don’t know how I ended up in Crazy Town, but I’d like to leave now.”

     A hand slinked around his shoulder and he felt uncomfortably hot again. “Hear me out, Albert. You’ve got to understand that you’re here for a greater purpose. Because you, sir, you’re gonna bring those two lovebirds back together.” Like the Ghost of Christmas Future, a long, bony finger pointed into the distance and Calavicci might as well be looking at his own grave. He stopped breathing as he was smacked in the face by unwanted memories.

     Two very familiar passengers sat unhappily in the front seat of the car driving past: Peg and Tom Stratton.

     In the timeline he was currently stranded in, they had been the first people Doctor Sam Beckett had leaped in to help. But in Calavicci’s timeline, where he had leaped with Alia, they were the first people  _he_  had saved. He hadn’t thought about them in a long time.

     Samuel leaned in next to his ear, so close his breath made his ears tingle. “Now wouldn’t it just be sugar in your tea to gather two lost souls?”

     Uncomfortable now, Calavicci put some distance between them. But, he stayed on the bench. “But their marriage is fine,” he argued, “I know it is. They have another kid in 1956; I was there.”

     Samuel shook his head and tutted. “Uh-uh. Time’s a fickle thing. I’m afraid if you don’t make the sale, the honeymoon’s over tonight.”

     Calavicci pursed his lips and glared, “Even if that were true, selling them a bottle of colored water isn’t going to fix their problems. There is no potion—elixir—whatever the hell you called it.”

     Samuel leaned in and gave him a wide grin. His chin dimpled with sincerity, an expression he hadn’t seen on Sam since...he shook the thought away. “That’s what I keep tryin’ to  _tell_  you, Albert: the elixir doesn’t matter. What’s important is Tom and Peg, Mikey and Samantha...if you can make them happy, what does it matter how you do it?” A pause. He squeezed his shoulder. “They need you.  _I_ need you.”

     Those words meant so much and so little.

     Calavicci could feel his resolve breaking down, that mental kick to the head he was giving himself because he knew he was falling for it again. What was it about Sam Beckett that, no matter what form he took, he knew exactly how to get him to follow to the ends of the earth? Maybe he just missed his voice, his smile, his laugh, and even this Sam, whoever he was, filled the empty cavity in his chest. He just wanted him here again. Wanted to touch him and be touched back.

     Calavicci wanted to reach out and touch someone.

     He sighed, almost achieving a small grin.  _Almost._ With lowered eyelids, he asked, “Okay, Samuel. What do we need to do?”

\-------

_You came when I was alone, shucks, I shoulda knowed, that you was tim tayshun! You smiled and led-a me on, my heart is plum gone, cuz you was tim tayshun!_

     The song wailed on as Calavicci and Samuel entered the honkytonk club, filled with noise and lights and the sound of spurs. It was loud—and in many ways—and…well, Calavicci liked it. It was a party, a real hoedown! Nothing he was ever expecting, but then again, what was going as expected this leap? Or, whatever it was. Despite himself, he was starting to feel giddy.

     It was hotter than hell in here though, which was his only complaint. They took their seats and he fanned himself off with a menu. Samuel slid a cold beer across the table before cracking one open himself. Calavicci accepted it gratefully. He had the right idea! “Thanks.”

     Samuel tipped his hat in acknowledgement, then really took in their surroundings. “It’s a mighty fine night, isn’t it, Albert? Enough to make a man whistle a happy tune.” With a small smile, he tipped his head back and took a long drink. Sweat dripped down his neck and over his chest where his shirt was unbuttoned low.

     Calavicci found himself staring, drawn to the exposed skin glistening under the hot lights. He thought of the times he and Beckett spent alone at the Project, shirts drawn open as they played cards, the glances he stole and his companion never noticed.

  _Yes, as the serpent tempted Adam, as the apple tempted Eve, as the mudhole tempts a muh-skeeter, darlin', that's how you're temptin' me!_

When he realized what he was doing, he tore his eyes away in shame. This was  _not_ Beckett, and it wasn’t…well, it didn’t mean anything anyway. Focus on something else. The stage. The performance.

     And his eyes bugged out as he did a double take. He really shouldn’t be surprised anymore, but one of the singers was Maxine. His fifth wife was his craziest marriage and it burned just as brightly when it was falling apart. He still saw her from time to time, swapped, uh,  _stories_ , before…before he became a leaper. She was never boring, that was for sure. Done up in a cowgirl outfit covered in rhinestones, she sang the cornball song with enthusiasm alongside a handsome cowboy.

      _It’d be thrillin', iffin you're willin', but iffin it never can be then pity for me, cause you was pure born to be kissed, I couldn't resist, cuz you was temptation, and I was your'n!_

Just then, a shadow moved behind them and Calavicci’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. And as soon as it appeared, it was gone. Maybe he was losin’ it, but…but he swore he saw a pair of  _red_   _eyes_. No, he definitely saw it. But no one else seemed to take notice of the strange presence, just like at Mayville’s shop. And that’s when it began to sink in that something insidious was hiding in this leap, had hidden itself in the corners of the model.

     Something was following him.

     “Sorry to keep you waiting!” Someone startled him by tucking a napkin into his shirt, and he looked up to see his fourth wife Sharon in an old-fashioned waitress uniform.

     Oh yuck, not  _Sharon._

     “There’s a good boy!” she cooed, pinching Calavicci’s cheeks. Ugh. She always treated him more like a son than a husband. Even he couldn’t remember exactly why he’d married her—maybe because her motherly nature reminded him of Ruth. “I hope you didn’t spoil your dinner, because I made it just for you!” With a great flourish, she lifted the lid off of a tray to reveal two hot meals and a single red apple. “ _Bon app_ _é_ _tit!”_

     Calavicci slanted his mouth. “But we haven’t even ordered yet.”

     “Much obliged, ma’am,” Samuel said with a sly grin, kissing her hand. She tittered and blushed. “This looks absolutely sinful. I must send my compliments to the chef.”

     “Oh bless your heart!” she gushed, cheeks still flushed, “You two enjoy!” And she stumbled away in a daze. Samuel reached for the apple, shined it on his shirt, and took a big bite.

     Calavicci glared at him with irritation. “Do you give every woman such close attention, or just my exes?”

     “Oh, every woman.” Samuel gave him a wink.

     A pause. And Calavicci couldn’t help it, a snort slipped out. Smartass.

     There was a reason they found themselves in this club and it wasn’t just to have a good time. Samuel had assured him that this was a business trip. “I do believe that’s our troubled couple now.” He nodded his head across the room, where Tom and Peg sat together in a dark corner in silence.

     Those two were a real cold shower. The sight of them sunk claws deep into Calavicci’s skin and ripped him straight into his own past, a part of him he’d buried deep and tried to forget. They’d sunk far into the recesses of his mind while he was stuck in the void, plotting revenge on Sam and then their paradox selves. Soon, he couldn’t even recall their faces. His brain only had room for violence, for survival, he couldn’t live with himself if he remembered the person he used to be.

     He was a good man, once. At least he tried to be. A drunk, a hothead, but a good man. When Alia’s time travel experiment had gone ca-ca, he found himself thrust into the unlikely role of a hero, putting right what once went wrong. And he learned  _how_ to improve himself, to care about people, to straighten the world’s crooked frames. And he was  _good_ at it. Maybe not perfect, but history was better than it had been before. For the first time in a long time, there was something he could be proud of again. And the very first people he’d set on the right path were Peg and Tom Stratton.

     He was a good man, once. He missed it. Something that made him whole was lost along the way. He saw that same loss in Sam.

     “You’re wound tighter’n a clock, my friend,” Samuel chuckled, playfully shaking Calavicci’s shoulder, “You’re not buildin’ rockets, you know.”

     “Yeah.” Calavicci rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat. Why was he so nervous? As a leaper, he’d been tasked with convincing many people of many different things. But it had been a long time since he’d been tasked with making someone’s life better. Wasn’t it time he cleared some of the rust? This wasn’t his first rodeo, after all. “Yeah,” he stated more confidently, pulling his chair out, “Here we go. Wish me luck.”

     “Luck.” Samuel tipped his beer before taking another drink.

     Calavicci couldn’t believe he was doing this. It was silly. If this was some elaborate dream or hallucination, what did any of it matter? It certainly wasn’t reality. So who gave a crap if Tom and Peg got together?

     Well, he did, actually. He liked that kid of theirs, he was real smart. And Peg was so patient with him and his swiss cheesed brain; she’d have to be patient if she was married to the joker Tom seemed to be. And he liked being Tom and flying again, to be able to touch the sky; like coming home. Flying was his second love next to Beth.

     Well, that wasn’t exactly true anymore, was it? A lot of things had changed.  _He’d_ changed.

     They were seated across from each other…frozen. Not moving, not blinking, simply…suspended in place. The lights were dimmer here and cast them in eerie shadow, like mannequins. Yeesh, it gave him the heebie jeebies. With some apprehension, he shuffled closer and squinted at them curiously.

     As soon as he was in eyesight, they snapped to life. Yikes!

     Peg turned to face him. “Can I help you?”

     His words almost left him. Clearing his throat, Calavicci stumbled, “Can you help me, well, I, uh—” He was met with stares. He swallowed and tried to sound more confident. “See, I was just with my, er, friend over there,” he gestured to Samuel, “and couldn’t help but notice that you two seem to be…in a rough patch.”

     Tom sighed and stood up. “See? I told you people would notice, Peg. We never should’ve come here tonight.”

     Calavicci raised his hands. “No, don’t leave! See, my…associate and I, we specializes in cases like yours. I think we can help you.”

     “That’s nice of you,” Tom said, “But I think it might be too late at this point.”

     “Let’s just hear him out, Tom,” Peg said imploringly. In her tone could be heard the want to fix this sinking ship. “What can it hurt?”

     Tom paused for thought. He wasn’t quite ready to let go just yet. Then, hesitantly, “Okay. What do you have in mind, Mr., um…”

     “Calavicci. Albe—Al, Calavicci.” Calavicci groaned internally and offered his hand. Jeez, he was sounding like  _him_.

     As he was shaking hands with Tom, he realized he had no plan. He felt a bit foolish bringing up love potions and all that crap to be perfectly honest—not that he’d bought for a second that’s what it was. But Samuel hadn’t denied it was a fraud. What was important was  _they_ thought it was a love elixir. Then they’d realize their true feelings all along.

     Still, he didn’t really see himself shilling Love Potion Number 9.

     Some small inspiration struck. “Hey! This song is great!” Calavicci enthused. Maxine warbled on onstage. “How about you two start with a dance?” There was considerable hesitation. Peg played with her bracelet and bit her lip. Neither of them met eyes. Calavicci took the lead, gently pulling Peg to her feet. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you two forgot how to dance! It’s easy!” To demonstrate, he backed up toward the dance floor and showed off a few moves.

     Peg let out a laugh. She met eyes with Tom, who was admiring her smile. Getting braver, she extended her hand to him. “May I?”

     “You may.” Tom took her hand and they glided onto the dance floor in sync.

     Samuel was waiting for Calavicci when he sauntered back, feeling self-satisfied. Hell, he hadn’t needed that elixir after all. Peg and Tom had just needed a small push in the right direction. “Well ain’t you just grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet tater,” Samuel commented with amusement.

     “You could say I’m a little proud, yeah,” Calavicci said with a smirk, “And I didn’t need your placebo to do it.”

     “You sure about that?”

     Calavicci blinked, then jammed his thumb behind him. “You kiddin’ me? Look at those two! They obviously still love each other.”

     “Appearances can be deceivin’, Albert.”

     “Huh?” Calavicci swiveled around and gaped. Peg and Tom were fighting again. Words unheard, Peg pushed Tom aside and ran out. An angry Tom stormed after her. “Aw, no! Not again!”

     He faced Samuel once more, who was casually leaned back in the same position. He’d been certain of this outcome. “Go make the sale.”

     Alright, damn it. Snatching up his case, Calavicci raced after them.

\-------

     “Peg! Tom! Hold it!”

     They stopped, but didn’t turn around.

     A downcast Peg hugged herself. “It was a nice gesture, Mr. Calavicci, but I think you’d better leave.”

     Calavicci was dumbstruck. How could they give up that easy? “So what?” he asked, throwing out his arms, “You’re just gonna throw everything away, just like that?”

     “I really don’t think it’s any of your business,” Tom muttered over his shoulder, “Besides…some things aren’t meant to be fixed.”

     “Not any of my business?” Calavicci exclaimed, chuckling in disbelief, “ _Not any of my business_? Do you have any CLUE what you two have? I’d kill for that! Of course it’s my damn business!” The puzzled couple spun around. He was fuming, passionate. “TRUE LOVE! The kind that’s fated to happen! Where thousands of tiny twists and turns in time are all leading to the moment you met, to your first kiss, to two brilliant little kids, and breaking Mach 3! And some drunken idiot falling into your life to save you from disaster because god, time, fate, or whatever saw two tiny little people in all of history and decided they were worth saving!” He stepped closer, pleading. He had to help them, he just  _had_ to. “And somehow I ended up in your life again, and I don’t know how or why, but I can’t just let it fall apart. You two were meant to be. You found the person you were supposed to be with for the rest of your life…it’s more than a lot of people get.”

     For what seemed like decades, there was silence. God, please let them have heard. He’d done precious few good things in his life, and if they didn’t make it, what chance in hell did he have?

     Reaching a quaking hand into his case, he pulled out a bottle and held it out to them.

     Peg reached her hand out. And Tom took it.

\-------

     Hoo hoo, if he could, he’d be walking on air! Peg and Tom had bought the elixir, and last he saw they were driving off to park somewhere. A real happy ending. Not bad for a rusty leaper, he thought. Seeing those two together gave him a feeling he hadn’t had in a very, very long time: a sense of swelling pride. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good about himself. Or like himself. Where had he been all these years?

     And, he realized…he terribly missed helping people. He never thought he would, never thought he could open himself to the world again, and it was…it was all thanks to Sam again, wasn’t it? He hoped this wasn’t his last opportunity to put right what once went wrong.

     Whistling a jaunty tune, Calavicci skipped back to the motel he and Samuel were staying at. When he’d returned to the club, he’d found his companion missing, so the logical conclusion was he’d turned in for the night. And it  _was_ getting late. He couldn’t  _wait_ to tell him about Peg and Tom!

      A familiar face greeted him outside the motel. His second wife, what was her name? The Hungarian one. She was leaned against a beam and smoking, her dreamy eyes low as she looked at the stars.

     Calavicci tipped his hat. Even she couldn’t get him down. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?” he asked with satisfaction.

     Without even an acknowledging glance, she said with an indifferent shrug, “Big whoop.”

     After finding the key in his pocket, Calavicci opened the door to their room and entered. “Samuel! Samuel, I did it!” he proclaimed proudly.

     Samuel was seated at a desk, stacks of bills sorted in front of him for counting. He grinned. “Well slap my head and call me silly! I believe a congratulations is in order.” Pushing out his chair and standing up, he offered his hand. “I take it you charged them full price?”

     Calavicci was staring, his good mood fading fast. The other man’s hand was left hanging. A suspicious feeling was snaking up his spine and the thought filled him with white hot fury. Everything he’d done was beginning to make him feel like someone else’s puppet. Lowering his eyes, he said in an even voice, “That’s what this was about all along, wasn’t it? The money.”

     Samuel chuckled and slapped his shoulder. “Now now, why the red face? It’s just business, Albert.” And he pivoted around and began to search the room for something.

     His dismissive, carefree attitude made Calavicci  _livid._ He was sick of being patronized. How could he have fallen for his lies? “You don’t care about them at all, do you? You never did.”

     Samuel was on his knees now, searching under the bed. “Now where did I put it…?”

     Calavicci swiftly closed the distance between them, blinking angrily. “I thought you were different, that maybe—maybe you were better than me!” His self-loathing was in intense battle with the heat he felt toward the man still ignoring him. Why was he always  _doing_ that?! “But now I see what you’re about. You do a fancy spin, but you’re sellin’ snake oil just like everyone else!” He jabbed an accusatory finger at him, then waved his hands widely in the air. “This isn’t real, none of this is real. That isn’t Beth in my house and you aren’t Sam or whoever the hell you claim to be. Nothing can be as perfect as this picturesque little town, it’s all a lie, just like everything that’s come outta your mouth!” Samuel was still digging under the bed, unconcerned at the escalation this conversation was taking. It only made him angrier. “So why don’t we just cut the bullshit and get to the truth? Who are you?”

     Samuel emerged from under the bed and stood, a shovel in hand. Calavicci took a step backward, but the other man never held it threateningly. With a Cheshire grin, he answered, “I’m a salesman, Albert. But not as good a salesman as you ever were.”

     And then, suddenly, the window behind him was lit up in flame. With a gasp, Calavicci stumbled back fearfully.

     Then it was gone. Acting as if it never happened, Samuel walked past him toward the door. “Excuse me. I’ve got work to attend to.”

     Calavicci was frozen for a moment, still rattled from the fire. Had he really seen it? No, the window was fine now. No scorch marks. No flames.

     Now wait a minute, Samuel had left! He wasn’t gonna get away without answering some hard questions. If Calavicci had to wrestle it outta him, he’d get what he was looking for.

     And, suddenly, disorientingly, he was standing at a crossroads.

     The simple dirt road was lit only by a single lamp post, and Samuel was in the middle with his shovel. Already he had his jacket off and his shirt was caked in filth, sweat on his brow. He dug steadily and with a determined rhythm.

     Once he’d adjusted to his new surroundings, Calavicci closed in with conviction. “You’re not getting ridda me that easy.” He continued digging. “Did you hear me? I said you can’t leave me behind anymore.”

     “The rest of the money is buried here.”

     For crying out loud, he wouldn’t even look at him! Calavicci circled to face him. “Stop digging and tell me who you are, you son of a bitch!” More shoveling. “Damn it, would you listen to me for once? Don’t act like I’m not here! Stop digging! SAM!”

     His last call echoed louder than he had projected, increasing in volume each time it bounced back and jolting him to a halt. It didn’t bother Samuel of course, who continued with his mission in the increasingly large hole. In fact, he was already nearly neck deep.

     As he was staring incredulously, Calavicci saw dirt crumble down the side of the pit. His eyes following it upward, a sense of dread slowly overtook him. At the top stood Peg and Tom—or, at least he  _thought_ they were Peg and Tom. Two skeletons, with the barest bit of putrid flesh still clinging to them, wore the tattered remains of their clothing.

     Gasping, he staggered backward—only to find himself falling into the much deeper pit, now behind him. With a splat, he landed on his backside in the suddenly muddy hole.

     “What the…?” Rain was beginning to pour down. Mud stained the crisp white suit he was now wearing. “S-Samuel…?” He questioned uncertainly. Slowly, he pulled his trembling body to his feet and turned around.

     Samuel was no longer Samuel but Sam, a pale, unconscious, half-buried soul hooked up to machines. The tubes and cords were connected to the very earth as it began to slowly swallow him.

     Surging with an insurmountable panic, Calavicci sunk into the mud again and frantically began attempting to dig him out. “No, Sam! No, don’t leave me!” The more he dug, the further they were both starting to sink. The mud suctioned around them, black as tar. “PLEASE!”

     The hands on his friend’s shoulders squelched out of the mud, only to be filled with snakes. He screamed and tossed them aside.

     Abruptly, Sam opened his eyes and pulled the breathing apparatus out of his throat. “You can still get out, Al.”

     “I’m not leaving without you.” And he started digging again. Seeing Sam motionless, he took his shoulders and began to pull angrily. “Damn it, do something! Try to get up!”

     “Does it matter?”

     “Of  _course_ it matters! This isn’t the time to be playing games!”

     Sam stared at him, humorless now. “So why don’t we just cut the bullshit and get to the truth?”

     Hearing his own words against him, Calavicci’s heart sunk like a stone. He looked into Sam’s face, that beautifully broken face, and felt his walls come crashing down. This was what he had wanted all along, wasn’t it? His guts, his viscera, spilled out into the open for the flies to buzz around.

     He splashed down into the mud, breaking down. If they were sinking, he couldn’t keep it in anymore. “I never wanted this,” he said with furious devastation, “I wanted to be the one to save you, Sam! But how the hell am I supposed to do that when I can’t even save myself?!” His chin trembled and he blinked. “I thought maybe…maybe I could make it through this hell if you did, but you were falling off that building before we ever made that leap. And I can’t survive this without you, I just can’t! I won’t!”

     “Why?”

     Calavicci splashed his hands violently into the mud. “Because I’m in love with you, Sam!” Finally, he said it! The darkest secret he’d kept bottled up, the shame that kept him going. The words corroded his throat like acid. But now that he’d admitted it, he had to say everything. “I wish I wasn't, but I am! You’re all I think about, what’s in your head, the way you smell, the feel of your hand. And you, you’re just lying there, and I never got a chance to—to tell you!” He shut his eyes tight. His voice quaked. “But you never saw it because you were too damn selfish! You couldn’t look past those ghosts in the distance to see what was staring you right in the face. And I just let all of the bitterness that consumed you eat me alive too!” He pounded his fists into the other man’s chest. He  _had_ to  _listen_ this time! “I hate you for leaving me, Sam! I hate you! And most of all, I hate you for picking him over me!”

     With his confession out in the open, he slammed his fists down one more time before hanging his head in exhaustion. Those words were meant to be his and his alone. Could never be Sam’s, but now they were. How could this have happened? How could he have been so stupid to let himself fall in love when he would never love him in return?  _Could_  never now?

     A shadow fell over them. Charged with renewed fear, Calavicci’s eyes tore away from the man he loved to the ghouls surrounding the pit. Hundreds of rotten, disfigured faces stared down at them blankly, souls he knew from his travels in time, souls that filled him with such terror he dare not move again. No, not his victims, though he had many. These were all the souls he’d saved.

     Every one of them weighed him down.

     They held no emotion but each pair of eyes was a crushing blow. Sagging under the pressure, he sank deeper into the mud. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry I let you all down! I don’t know how I got so lost, but it’s not me! I don’t know what I am, but I hate it! God, if I could take it all back I would! I’m sorry!” Letting out a sob, he fell face down into Sam’s chest.

     Only Sam was gone. He pulled himself out of the mud with confusion.

     “Look up, Albert,” he drawled.

     Calavicci’s eyes drifted up Samuel’s body, now bedecked in a clean red suit. He stared down at him with eyes of judgment, surrounded by the haunting faces of history. Behind them, a wall of flame burned brightly.

     He couldn’t stop shaking. Petrified, he could barely find the ability to speak. This was the end, his end, and he could feel the ax coming down on his neck.

     Softly, almost too softly to hear, he asked, “…are you the devil?”

     Samuel glided down onto his knee, meeting his eyes. Without betraying any emotion, he asked plainly, “Do you really think he’s the only one who’s watching?”

     He was staring at the Disciplinary Chamber door.

     Still trembling, it took a few moments for Calavicci to realize where he was. He couldn’t bring himself out of that pit. Had any of it really happened? But it had felt so  _real._ He could still feel the mud on his hands, the heat of the fire.

     But now, he was free. He had more choice than he’d given himself credit for. He could still turn back.

     Behind that door, his next victim waited.

     No. Whoever their tormentor would be, it wouldn’t be him. He turned away and prepared to wait for his punishment. The overlords might not be happy, but at least he’d have a little less muck on his conscience. It was a start.

      _If you can’t do it, I’ll do it for both of us, Sam._

     “It’s your lucky day, Albert.” Calavicci turned around. Zoey stood at the end of the hallway. Betraying a subtle smile, she said, “He’s awake.”

     The words hadn’t even registered yet, but his body was rushing him to his side. Within minutes, he was with Beckett.

     He couldn’t believe it. It had seemed impossible. Still pale, still fragile, and not all there yet, but his eyes were open. He was  _alive_ again!

     The love that had kept him going swelled in his heart once more as he held back happy tears. He couldn’t reveal his soul to their captors, but he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this happy. Barely contained, he sat next to his Sam.

     If Samuel was real or if none of it had ever happened, something in him had changed. He felt as if he'd escaped hellfire, at least...at least for now. Fate had given him another chance, and he couldn’t give up now that he had him again. He didn’t care if Zoey was watching. He held his wonderful hand in his and held on tight. Somehow, they’d make it out.

     Whether or not he knew his feelings, he could feel the warmth of his hand. And for now, that was enough.

     He was enough.

     "I'm here, Sam."


End file.
